


Stay with Me

by CumberCurlyGirl



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cheating, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mentioned Mary Morstan, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Shameless headhopping, Sherlock sexual awakening, The Stag Night Fix-It (Sherlock: The Sign of Three)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 12:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14355510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CumberCurlyGirl/pseuds/CumberCurlyGirl
Summary: TSOT stag night re-imagined.  Sherlock and John both have secrets they've been keeping and the alcohol helps bring them out.  Sherlock is willing to go places he didn't think he wanted to go in order to keep John from getting married.





	Stay with Me

**Author's Note:**

> There are alternating points of view here. This is not textbook but hey it's the way I wanted to write it. I have signalled POV shifts by "***".

“Am I the current King of England?”

“Sherlock, Jesus, you’ve got to be kidding me,” John said, as he took another sip of his drink.  

“What?” Sherlock asked, wrinkling his nose.

John had never seen Sherlock drunk before, and he was enjoying it. John was quite tipsy himself, but he was used to drinking. For Sherlock, this was uncharted territory. John wasn't sure he had ever seen Sherlock allow himself to lose control. If there was one thing that Sherlock Holmes had, it was self-control.  In spades.

He knew Sherlock occasionally used drugs, something John hated. Drugs allowed Sherlock to retreat into himself and hyper-focus on a problem, or to settle his high-strung restlessness during the droughts between cases. They served a purpose, at least that is what John thought Sherlock told himself. Alcohol was different; alcohol broke down inhibitions; sometimes made the things you keep buried deep and hidden, unspoken, bubble to the surface and out into the open before you could stop them.

“We have a queen, Sherlock, not a king, and we've had her for a really long time,” John said, shaking his head in amusement.

“Ith’s not important,” Sherlock said, slurring his words slightly and making a dismissive gesture.

“I think you’ve had enough.” 

“It’s your special night, John, your stag night, and I wanted to do what guys do. I wanted to make you happy, show you a good time.”

“Make me happy? Sherlock, you make me happy every single day that we work together, we don’t need to get drunk to have a good time.”  John reached up and plucked the scrap of paper from his forehead, glancing at it.

               _Madonna._

“I’ve missed you so much John,” Sherlock said, dropping his head back against his chair and closing his eyes.

John stared at his friend, sprawled languidly in the chair, long legs extended and thighs spread. What did Sherlock mean? Did he mean what John did when he thought about missing Sherlock? He didn’t think so. Here he was, on one of his last nights as a bachelor and he should be happy; he should be looking forward to his life with Mary. This should be a fun night, celebrating with Sherlock, but it wasn’t. The whole marriage bit felt wrong. He had an ache in the pit of his stomach; it had been there for months. It was as if he was standing on a cliff, peering over it into a dark crevasse. Just one more step and he would be over the edge, never to return.  John bit his lip, thoughts tumbling through his head as he gazed at his best friend.

_Mary. I’m going to be marrying Mary in less than a month._

_Good god. Sherlock, what am I doing? I’m marrying her, but I want..._

_What are you thinking? You are getting married!_

_I’m weeks away from losing him._

_Tell him._

_He’s drunk; it wouldn’t be fair._

“I’ve missed you too, but we’ll still work on cases together, it’ll be fine,” John said finally, taking a deep breath and pushing these thoughts aside.  

***

Sherlock waved a hand in the air, but his eyes remained closed. “I know, but it is just not the same, not having you here all the time.”

               _John, I need you_ , _and I’m prepared to do what it takes._

_***_

“Half the time you never even noticed when I wasn’t here,” John said. “Maybe what you really mean is you don’t like having to buy the milk yourself.”

Sherlock laughed and opened his eyes. “No, honestly John, I really miss you." His expression was serious, and it seemed like he wanted to say more. Instead, he said, "Weren’t we playing a game?”

“It’s over,” John said, leaning forward to take the strip of paper from Sherlock’s forehead and steadying himself by putting a hand on Sherlock’s knee. "If you don't know we have a bloody queen then I'm pretty goddamn sure you don't know who Madonna is."

***

“Hmm, right. Well, it’s early yet, and as I said, it’s your night. Is there anything else you’d like to do? Shall we go back out to a pub, play another game, maybe strip poker?” Sherlock asked innocently.

“I’m sorry, what!” John choked, obviously not sure he had heard correctly.

 “I’m joking John. I’m not sure what made me say that. It just popped into my head. I think I might be a bit drunk after all.”

            _Picture me naked, John._

_***_

“You think?” John said as he was picturing Sherlock naked. "Let’s just stay here. It's quite entertaining to see Sherlock Holmes slurring his words and offering to play strip poker. You just don’t get that every day.” He didn’t notice that his hand was still on Sherlock’s knee as his internal struggle continued. Here he was with his best friend who clearly did not have his wits about him and John was seriously considering…What? Making a pass? Taking advantage of the situation?

“Are you OK, John?”

John snapped back to reality and quickly removed his hand.

“I’m fine.” But John was so, so far from fine. Whatever force it was that had been pulling John to the edge of the dark crevasse, toward Mary, had lessened, and the whiskey had given him foolish courage.

               _Say it!_

John Watson made a decision then and there to say the thing that would change his and Sherlock's lives forever.

“No, no, actually I am NOT fine.”

John stood up and put his hands over his face in frustration, immediately second-guessing his decision.

               _Oh god, what am I doing?_

_Stop it._

_Just stop it._

_You can still turn back._

_“_ Sherlock, I…”

Sherlock reached out and touched John's thigh.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” John said, shaking his head, struggling to put his feelings into words. “I’m afraid I’m about to make the biggest mistake of my life.”

“Yes, "Sherlock said, in that annoying tone in which John always heard the implied but unspoken "obviously, idiot."

“Excuse me?”

“Getting married is a mistake. I assume that’s what you mean.  _I_ need you.”

“To buy the milk?”

***

“No, well, maybe. No, that is not what I mean. You are important to me, and since you’ve been gone I’ve not been myself, I’ve been… sad. Although I said it flippantly, I’ve found it to be true. I’m lost without my blogger.”

_Don’t leave me. I’ll try to give you what you need._

_***_

“Sherlock, I need to tell you that what I feel for you is not…strictly platonic."

                _And there it is. God help me._

 _“_ Do you want to kiss me, John?”

John stared. He stared for what seemed like an eternity but was really only ten seconds.

               _I want to kiss you._

_I want to kiss every inch of you._

_I want to smell you, taste you, hold you._

_I want to bury myself in you._

“Yes.”

***

Sherlock leaned forward and looked up, offering himself.

               _I’ll try John._

_***_

Slowly, John knelt between Sherlock’s knees. He put his hands on Sherlock's face, thumbs caressing the fine cheekbones. Gazing into the beautiful blue eyes, he could read nothing. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to Sherlock’s. Electricity rocketed through his body. Sherlock’s lips remained still, not kissing back. John pulled away, looking at Sherlock quizzically.

“John, I’m sorry.”

Sherlock, Christ, what are we doing? _I’m_ sorry. This isn’t fair. You’re drunk.”

“It’s fair. You aren’t taking advantage of me. I’d like you to kiss me again. I’ll try harder this time.”

John kissed him. This time Sherlock took his cues from John, imitating the movements of his lips and tongue. He was a fast learner. Kissing Sherlock felt very, very right. Sherlock's lips were soft, and he tasted delicious, just as John had imagined he would.  He had thought about this kiss for years it seemed, and in truth, it had been. The kiss was just as sweet as it had been in his dreams. He felt that he could kiss Sherlock forever. It was like a dam had broken and all of John's desires, pushed aside and denied for so long, were rushing over it.  He couldn't stop now even if he wanted to.

John’s hands moved from Sherlock’s knees to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, running his fingers through the curls.

               _Is this really happening?_

_Oh, Sherlock._

_Sherlock._

John buried his face in Sherlock’s neck, taking in his scent, kissing the hollow above his collarbone. Then he pulled away and began unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt slowly, watching him closely for a reaction. 

***

Sherlock sat passively and did not object, keeping his face expressionless with some effort.  He didn’t want John to see the cold flutter of panic that was rising within him. His heart pounded in his chest. 

               _Anything, if you’ll stay with me, John._

_***_

“Sherlock, I have to ask. Are you really a virgin?”

A shadow passed over Sherlock’s face, and he did not meet John’s eyes. He didn’t speak for several seconds.  

***

“No John, I’m not. But I was very young, and it wasn't a positive experience for me. It was not…consensual. I don’t want to talk about it right now. I don’t ever want to talk about it.”

               _Don’t think about it._

_Bury it deep._

“Oh god, Sherlock, I’m sorry,” John said, halting.

“Nothing for you to be sorry about. I liked the kiss; I like … this,” Sherlock said, honestly. “Please don’t stop.”

***

John finished unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt and opened it, pulling it from his trousers. He ran his palms gently over Sherlock’s pale chest, which appeared almost ghostly in the firelight. He traced his fingertips lightly over Sherlock’s nipples, watching them harden. 

             _So beautiful._

Sherlock closed his eyes, his breathing shallow, then opened them.

“Take off your shirt, John. I want to see you too.”

John complied, tossing his shirt aside.

***

Sherlock gaze raked over John’s naked torso. 

“Very nice, Doctor.”

               _I’m trying, John_. 

_***_

John’s hands slid up Sherlock’s long thighs very slowly, feeling the sinewy muscles beneath the fine cloth. He unbuckled Sherlock’s belt and began to unfasten his trousers. All he wanted now was to make Sherlock happy; his own desire seemed unimportant. He wanted to obliterate whatever bad memories might be hiding within Sherlock. He wanted to right what he sensed was a terrible wrong.

“Are you going to fellate me?”

“I thought I would. Yeah, is that okay? John asked, amused by Sherlock’s formal bluntness.

Sherlock nodded. 

John helped Sherlock remove his trousers and pants. He kissed him on the mouth.

“Sherlock, I want you to enjoy this,” he whispered into Sherlock’s ear. “And later, when I find out who hurt you, and I _will_ find out, I’m going to track them down and beat the shit out of them. I might actually murder them. That will be an easy case for you to solve.”

As they kissed again, his hand found Sherlock’s penis, which was still soft. Holding it tenderly, he began moving his kisses slowly down Sherlock’s neck, chest and stomach. He wanted to know every inch of this singular man. As he went lower, he felt Sherlock’s body go rigid.

***

Sherlock couldn't suppress the surfacing of an unwelcome memory that he could not seem to delete from his brain, no matter how hard or how often he tried. This particular memory lived deep in the recesses of his mind palace and usually stayed there, hidden and never voluntarily retrieved. Sherlock usually avoided all situations that would tempt the memory to snake its way up the corridors of the palace toward his conscious mind. Now, he felt it flood over him like a poisonous tsunami.  

               _Chemistry lab, after school._

_Working on an experiment for extra credit._

_Three older boys, sweaty from rugby practice._

_“Freak!”_

_“Fairy!”_

_“Hold him down.”_

_The pain, the humiliation._

_Trying not to cry._

_Screaming when a lit cigarette had burned his back. He still had the scar as a reminder._

_Left sobbing and bleeding on the floor of the chemistry lab._

“Relax,” whispered John. “I’ll stop anytime you tell me to.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and willed himself to relax. 

***

John took Sherlock into his mouth slowly. He felt him begin to harden and he kept going. He swirled his tongue around the head, then he took in as much of Sherlock as he could and applied suction before sliding him out again. He looked up to see Sherlock’s reaction. Sherlock was looking straight at him open-mouthed with an expression that he could not interpret. Pleasure? Confusion? Shock?

***

Sherlock watched in fascination as his cock disappeared into John’s mouth. The feeling was incredible and unexpected. It was better than those few seconds after injection, when the morphine reached his brain, spreading euphoria through his body and making everything else irrelevant.  John’s mouth was hot and wet and perfect, and it was _John’s_ mouth _._

_My John._

Sherlock masturbated when necessary, to relieve the distracting need that occasionally built up, but it was mechanical, like scratching an itch. This, however, was completely different. Having John between his legs and doing this to him. No, not _to_ him, but _for_ him, somehow transcended the merely physical aspect of it. The memory of what had happened in the chemistry lab so many years ago, mercifully faded and Sherlock felt nothing but pleasure. He closed his eyes and just _felt_.

John stroked Sherlock with his mouth slowly while cradling his bollocks. Sherlock's thighs fell open wider as he put his hands on John’s shoulders and moaned.  The sensation was overwhelming. 

“John, Oh, John please."

***

John took this as encouragement to move faster, now using his hand on Sherlock’s shaft to apply more pressure and running his tongue around the head of Sherlock's cock over and over.

_Sherlock, I love you._

Finally, Sherlock bucked his hips and made a sound that began as a gasp and ended in a low-pitched moan as he came. His fingers dug painfully into John’s shoulders. John braced himself and felt Sherlock explode in his mouth, all the while watching Sherlock's face. The beautiful face that was normally so guarded, was now open and utterly wrecked, his eyes closed and his perfect mouth emitting the most sensual sounds. John swallowed, feeling Sherlock's warm semen slide down his throat and then remained still, letting Sherlock ride out the orgasm. Finally, Sherlock went limp, and John released him.

Sherlock’s eyes were closed, and his chest heaved. Sweat soaked curls clung to his forehead.  

“Sherlock, you okay?”

Sherlock opened his eyes, and they were wet with tears.

“Sherlock, Oh god, what’s the matter?”

***

“Am I okay?  I am so much more than okay.  Is that what it feels like all the time?”

“What, a blow job?”

“Sex with someone you care about.”

               _Someone you love._

“Well, it varies a bit, but generally, yes.”

“What about you?” said Sherlock, sitting up straight. “Show me what to do, what you like. Help me.”

“No, Sherlock, not tonight. I’m fine. Watching you was enough for me. Come here.” He pulled Sherlock out of the chair and down onto the carpet in front of the fire. John lay on his back, and Sherlock curled beside him, head on John’s shoulder, arm flung across his chest. 

“What the hell just happened, Sherlock?”

“You gave me a blow job, obviously.”

“But what just _happened?_ ” John repeated. “What does it _mean?_ ”

“I hope it means that you aren’t leaving me.”

***

“I was never leaving you.”

               _Holy fuck_ , _I just gave Sherlock Holmes a blow job._

_He liked it._

_He wants me to stay._

_What about the wedding?_

_Oh, Mary, I’m so, so sorry._

“Sherlock, we’ve been drinking, and I think it makes sense to discuss this when we are sober,” John said, always the pragmatic one.

***

“Are you going home to Mary tonight?” Sherlock asked quietly.

               _Stay with me._

_***_

“She’s not expecting me. I told her we might be out all night.”

               _Home?_

John looked around at the flat and kissed Sherlock on the forehead.

               _221B_ is _home. It always had been_.


End file.
